Gallows Gallus
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a series of disappearances. Unfortunately, Sam becomes a target of an unlikely predator. Dean would find it funny, if it wasn’t deadly serious. Happy Birthday TraSan!
1. Sometimes the Chickens Win

_A/N: This is story is dedicated and offered to TraSan for her birthday. One day we were talking about our fears and a few popped up. Okay, I'll admit that makes a strange birthday present, but she should know me by now! I also asked for her favorite things, and they will all come along, promise! Happy Birthday!_

**Gallows Gallus**

**Chapter One**

**Sometimes the Chickens Win**

It was silent in the car. It had been silent in the car for the past three days. Dean had given up on the stereo after losing several tapes out the window. Sam was not in the mood for music, apparently. Dean was in the mood for anything that helped push his brother's plea to kill him out of his head. They'd argued about it every night, every day and now there was silence broken only by the occasional huff from his brother. _Like I needed that on top of everything else. _Dean knew Sam was hurting, he was at a loss on how to fix it. _It was easier, so much easier, when all it took was a band-aid and candy._

"Which exit?" Dean asked, breaking the four hour long silence. He glanced at his brother. Sam was staring out the passenger window, clenching his teeth. Dean reached over and lightly punched Sam's arm. "Which exit?"

"What?" Sam focused on him.

"The exit? To the place where people are dying horribly?"

"Exit 134. I'm not sure anyone has died horribly, Dean. Two people have gone missing, although the managers of the facility aren't really sure if they are actually missing."

"Run that past me again?"

"It's a storage place. Two people were on site, but there's no record they coded out on the gate log. That's what Sheila said."

"Sheila?" Dean grinned at his brother. "The Sheila?" He chuckled when Sam blushed. "She called you?"

"Her friends manage this place and she thought it sounded like something we might be interested in," Sam said, his neck still red.

"Uh huh, right. So, people might have gone missing?"

"Yeah, and Sheila said when she visited them last summer, there was one building that was extremely cold and creepy."

"Cold and creepy?" Dean looked at his brother. "Seriously?" Sam nodded. "Okay, well, we're here, so let's check it out." Dean followed Sam's directions and ten minutes later they pulled up in front of a small storage facility. Dean beeped the intercom. "Hi, we're here to see…" He looked at his brother.

"Myrna," Sam said, leaning across the seat.

"Sure, stop at the office," a female voice chirped.

"Myrna? Dude." Dean shook his head. He parked in a gravel spot marked "no parking" and they headed into the office.

"Hi, I'm Sam," his brother said as they walked through the door.

"Sheila's friend?" asked the small sixtyish woman behind the desk.

"Yeah," Sam said. "This is my brother, Dean."

"I'm Myrna Williams. I'm so glad you're here!" She stood and shook their hands. "My husband is out on site, let me get him to show you." Myrna picked up a walkie talkie. "Bill? Sheila's friend is here to see the two storey building."

"Sheila's Sam?" There was a chuckle, Sam turned bright red, Dean elbowed him in the ribs. "Be right there."

"That's the building," Myrna said, pointing out the window at a tall barn shaped building in the back corner of the property. "It was once a chicken coop then they converted it for storage. They built the rest of the facility around it. Oh, here's Bill."

A moment later a tall, white-haired man walked into the office. He smiled, shook their hands, and led them to the big building. "I hate this place," Bill said, opening a set of double doors. "Always gives me the creeps." There was another door just inside, it led up a flight of stairs. It was cold in the entry, far colder than it should have been on the bright autumn day. Dean looked at his brother, Sam nodded. Bill opened the door and gestured Sam and Dean to head up the stairs. "This floor is worse than the ground floor, too."

"Why?" Dean asked as he reached the top of the steps.

"Sometimes I swear, well, don't laugh at an old man, but sometimes I swear I can feel something brushing the top of my head as I walk down the hallway, and at night…" He stopped.

"What?" Sam said with the smile Dean knew could extract patient information from the sternest hospital administrator.

"Well, that window at the end of the hall reflects at night, you know, like a dark mirror and once or twice I swear I've seen things in it."

"Things?" Sam glanced at Dean. "What kind of things?"

"Once there was something that looked almost like a man. There rest of the time…"

"What?"

"Uh, chickens. I see chickens."

"You see chickens?" Dean asked, smothering a laugh. "Chickens?"

"Yeah, chickens." Bill led the way down the hall, he opened a large door just before the end of the corridor. "This room is right next door to unit 210, the one rented by the people who disappeared."

"What the hell are those?" Dean looked into the dark room, beady glass eyes stared back at him.

"Chickens," Bill said, laughing. "Old Man Hiller was into taxidermy. He stuffed his favorite hens."

"He had a lot of favorites," Dean said, walking into the large room. Dozens of stuffed chickens stood staring at him. "Creepy."

"It's usually worse at night, though, boys," Bill said. "Why don't you find some place to stay and come back after dinner, the site closes at seven, so you can have free run of the place." Bill closed the door, but left the lock off. "There's a ladder up into the attic inside the room."

"Thanks," Sam said, walking back down the hall.

"There's a little motel just up the road—Rose's. Tell them I sent you, they'll give you a good deal. They have good food in their diner and on Fridays the classic car club meets there." He stopped when they reached the Impala. "We'll see you boys after seven."

"Okay, we'll be back," Dean said, dropping into the Impala. He looked over at his brother as they pulled out. "Okay, apologies to Sheila, that place _is_ cold and creepy."

**XXX**

"Dean? We should be heading back soon," Sam said, shutting the laptop.

"You find anything?" Dean turned off the TV and walked over to the table.

"I'm not even sure what I'm looking for right now. There have been six disappearances in this area, but nothing to tie it, or them, to anything." Sam sighed. "Nothing."

"There has to be something," Dean said as they walked to the car. "Hey, I want to stop at that hardware store on the way back." Dean grinned.

"Dean…"

"Oh, come on, Sammy. A hardware store with a liquor store in it? Could we be in heaven? Axes, shovels, power tools and tequila. Now, if they just had a hot Heather lurking around…"

"I seriously doubt heaven is anything like that."

"Look at the sign, they have ammo," Dean's voice was breathy with delight. "Ammo, power tools and tequila. This might be heaven, Sammy." Dean pulled up in front of the store and hopped out. "Be right back, be good."

Sam laughed. The tension that had built between them over the past few days had eased a little at dinner. Sam thought it had to do with the huge steak Dean had eaten and the conversation his brother had with the owner of a '68 GTO. _Maybe we can talk again later. _

Sam remembered the last time he'd tried to bring it up, a few days before. _"We need to talk about this, Dean," he'd said after breakfast._

"_If this is that whole 'kill me' thing again, Sammy, then no, we don't."_

"_Dean… You might have to, for my own good. Like 'Old Yeller'."_

"_When did you ever watch the end of that damn movie? I always turned it off," Dean shouted at him. "And no, Sammy, not taking you out back and shooting you like some rabid dog."_

And Dean had quit talking. Nothing but mutters and growls for the first several hours after, then silence, then the usual Dean attempt to pull him out of his mood. This time it hadn't worked, and they had been silent with each other for days. Sam sighed.

"I got goodies," Dean said, opening the door. "They had those health bars you eat—the good kind, M&Ms, shotgun ammo, batteries and Patron Silver Tequila." Dean sighed happily. "Let's head back so we can check the place out, tell them there's nothing wrong and go back to the motel. We have munchies, tequila and…"

"Oh, god, please tell me 'Spinal Tap' is not on."

"No, better. Original 'Star Trek' marathon, all the good ones! Including 'Devil in the Dark.' I checked. They usually don't show that one." Dean was humming softly as he drove. He pulled up at the storage gate and hit the intercom. "It's Sam and Dean."

"Okay, I'll open the gate. We're in the house if you need us, dear," Myrna answered.

"Thanks." Dean parked in front of the large building. With a grin, he hopped out and opened the trunk. He handed Sam a flashlight, holy water flask, shotgun and extra shells.

"Dean?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared. You said we don't know what's in there." Dean shrugged. "Might be nothing."

"Which is why we have all this?"

"Cold and creepy, Sam, might be something."

Sam walked into the building and up the stairs, the temperature had dropped several degrees from earlier in the day. He stopped at the top of the steps and waited for Dean. His brother was flipping on the lights in the lower hallway.

"All clear down here, Sam," Dean shouted.

"Good." Sam listened as his brother came back down the hall, his footfalls echoing in the silent building.

Something brushed the back of Sam's neck. It was the slightest touch, more a whisper of air than anything else. Goosebumps popped up on his body. He turned quickly, the hallway was empty.

"So where do we start?" Dean said. "Sam?"

"What?" Sam turned to his brother. "I don't know, that room down the hall?"

"I wonder what the people who disappeared had in their unit? Bill said 210 right?" Dean eyed the lock as they stopped in front of the door. "Think you can get this lock off?"

"Sure." Sam bent down and went to work on the round padlock, a moment later he twisted the hasp open.

"You're pretty good at that." Dean grinned at him.

"Yep, better than you." Sam grinned back.

"You always were, Sammy," Dean said softly. Sam looked back at his brother, Dean had a wistful smile on his face. When he noticed Sam's look he frowned. "Were you thinking of opening that door this year sometime?"

"Yeah." Sam undid the latch and looked inside, then gagged, stumbling back away from the door.

"What?" Dean looked in, Sam had to smile when his brother's face turned a little green. "Sam? Is that an ear?"

Sam stepped back into the small area, kicking aside a pile of chicken feathers. "Yeah, it's an ear."

"So, whatever it was left the bits they didn't like?" Dean grinned. "Just like the compys?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam sighed. "Just like the compys, I guess. Oh, there's the nose. They don't like cartilage."

"A picky eater. Nice," Dean said. Sam stepped back into the hall so Dean could close the door. The icy brush of something that felt like feathers drifted across this face and wrapped around his neck. Sam slapped at his shoulder. "Sam?"

"It felt like something touched me," Sam said, looking down the hallway. "What's that?" There was movement in the dark window at the end of the hall. Sam could see himself, Dean and… He turned so he could get a really good look. There was a figure, naked, moving in the glass and behind it…

"What the hell is that?"

"The naked guy?"

"No behind the naked guy," Dean said, squinting at the glass.

"Chickens."

"Chickens?"

"Chickens."

"Sammy…" Dean said in a breathless whisper, a smirk on his face.

"What?" Sam asked, knowing what his brother was about to say, but playing along anyway.

"I see dead chickens." Dean started laughing. Sam laughed along. Something pinched the back of his neck.

"Shit!"

"What?"

"Something pinched me," Sam said. Dean grabbed his arm and turned him around. Sam felt his brother's fingers move his hair aside, then heard Dean's sharp intake of breath.

"Huh," Dean said calmly.

"Huh?" Sam waited for an answer, it didn't come. "Huh, Dean? Is that 'interesting' or 'how do I tell him he's dying'?"

"You're not dying." Dean emphasized that with a smack on the back of Sam's head. "But you are bleeding. It looks… Never mind."

"What, Dean?"

"Well it looks almost like you were… No. I must be seeing things. Let's check out the big room." Dean turned away and opened the door to the room Bill had shown them earlier. Dean flipped on the light and the myriad glass eyes of the chickens glittered at them. "That just creeps me out. Like chicken dolls or something." Dean shuddered.

Sam stepped into the room behind his brother. The single bulb cast weird shadows around the space. He thought he saw something moving in a dark corner, and pulled out his flashlight. When the beam touched the area he saw a flash, then it was gone. _What the hell was that? _Sam walked towards the area. As he moved through the ranks of stuffed chickens he thought he heard a soft scratching noise. He looked down, nothing was moving, and walked on.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Sam turned and looked back at the ranks of chickens. Nothing was moving, but he was sure the first row had shifted. He opened his mouth to tell Dean, then closed it again. _He'll think I'm freaking nuts. _ Sam took a deep breath and started searching along the walls looking for an opening into the unit where they found the ear.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Sam spun around, nothing was moving. "Dean?" Sam walked towards the opening to the attic.

"Yeah?" Dean called down from floor above.

"I think the chickens are moving."

"The dead, stuffed chickens?"

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Sam turned around, the chickens closest to him looked a lot closer. "Yeah."

"I'm coming down." A second later, Dean came down the ladder. "You moved them to freak me out, right?"

"They are in a different place? Aren't they?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean walked to the chickens, and kicked one of the red hens over.

"I thought so." Sam was staring at the last row, the one closest to the hallway, when a shadow drifted past the open door. One of the chickens' heads turned to follow the shadow. "Dean, one of them just moved."

"You're trying to freak me out with the weird doll chickens, right?"

Another head turned.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"Okay, that's just wrong." Dean said, walking towards the door. He bent down to look at the one that moved. "Maybe it was a trick of the light."

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Something brushed Sam's leg. He looked down, one of the chickens had moved far enough to touch his ankle. "Dean?"

"What?" His brother stood and looked at him.

"It moved." Sam pointed to the hen leaning against his leg like a puppy.

"I think we need to…" A hand reached around the corner and grabbed Dean, dragging him into the hall.

"DEAN!" Sam was moving through the rows of chickens when the door slammed closed. "Dean!" Sam pounded on the door.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

He took a deep breath and turned around. The whole first row of chickens was moving towards him. Sam raised the shotgun and fired.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, it had the rising tone of panic that Sam knew was reserved only for him.

"I'm okay!" he shouted back. _For now. _Dean was hammering on the door, the sound changed and Sam knew his brother was now trying to kick the door in. The chickens were still coming. Sam fired again, quickly reloading and firing. But there were too many, as the sound of the last shot died, they attacked.

They hit him hard, surprisingly strong for such small animals, but the mass of them drove him down to the floor. He desperately tried to cover his face, they were seeking his eyes, he could feel the sharp beaks edging ever closer to the sockets. "DEAN!" he shouted. A wing was shoved in his mouth.

"SAM!"

They were still going for his eyes, but he could feel the sharp beaks cutting into his chest and legs. Another wing was shoved in his mouth, it was getting hard to breathe. A clawed foot pressed against his throat, then another and another. Slowly his windpipe started to close. Sam struggled, trying to get the chickens off him, still trying to keep them from his eyes. Something grabbed his arm and dragged it away from his face.

The chickens clucked in delight.

The pressure on his windpipe increased, the beaks getting closer to his eyes. Sam could feel blood running across his face. His other arm was dragged away and pinned to the floor by the feathered bodies. Sam struggled to draw air past the feathers in his mouth, past the pressure the tiny clawed feet were exerting against his windpipe. Black spots were forming in front of his eyes. He could hear Dean shouting, the panic was a crescendo of fear now. Sam tried to call back, to let his brother know where he was, but the air was gone. A last attempt at a gasp and the chickens won. The world faded to nothing.

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. He's Fond of Chickens

_A/N: Sorry, again, I've been slow updating. I've been having a little fun with my health, but it is slowly getting straightened out! So, with my computer time, I'm trying to focus on getting chapters out for you all, I've left you hanging here and there. Well, I blame Scopulus, my cliffie demon. I'd like to thank Papa Cat for his very patient answers to a few very bizarre questions and help with the spell. Happy Thanksgiving to one and all! (Okay, a little late)_

**Gallows Gallus**

**Chapter Two**

**He's Fond of Chickens**

One of the chickens by the door looked like it moved its head. Dean squinted trying to get a better look with the beam of the flashlight and the light from the hallway. It really looked like it moved. "Okay, that's just wrong." Dean said, walking towards the door. He bent down to look at the one that he thought moved, poking it with his finger. It was stiff and hard. "Maybe it was a trick of the light." He heard a scratching noise behind him, like something dragged over the wood.

"Dean?" Sam said with a funny tone in his voice.

"What?" Dean turned and looked at his brother. One of the chickens was leaning against Sam's leg, looking up at him, like an adoring pet.

"It moved." Sam pointed down and half-smiled.

"Sam, I think we need to…" Something grabbed him and dragged him out into the hall. He lost his footing and the hand moved from his arm to his ankle, pulling him along the dimly lit corridor.

"DEAN!" his brother shouted. Dean heard the door slam shut, the sound echoing in the quiet building. Sam was pounding on the door, he could feel the blows through the floorboards. "Dean!"

Dean raised his gun and fired at the shadowy naked figure. The grip on his ankle increased, something biting into his skin like claws. Dean fired again. Whatever it was dropped him and ran down the hall, slipping through a door at the far end of the building. Dean pushed himself up and sprinted back to where Sam was trapped. The fact that Sam was no longer pounding on the door, that he had stopped shouting drove panic from zero to sixty in less than a second, it increased when the sound of Sam's gun came from the other side of the door. "SAM!"

"I'm okay!" Sam called back. Dean let out the breath he was holding and tried to get the door open, the latch wouldn't budge. He hammered at it with the butt of his gun. _Okay, that won't work. _When Sam's gun went off again, Dean gave up with the gun and took a step back so he could kick the door, aiming each blow at the unmovable latch.

"DEAN!" Sam's shout was full of fear.

"SAM!" He kicked the latch, nothing happened. Dean realized he could hear something on the other side of the door, movement, Sam's gasping breaths. "Sammy! Sam!" He knew each shout was more panicked than the last. He couldn't help it. The need to get to his brother was at the point of desperation. He took an extra step and slammed into the door with everything he had. He felt his ankle twist on impact, and the latch's screws ripped out of the wood. Dean threw the door open.

His brother was covered in chickens. Dean ran to Sam and started kicking the birds off him. They were regrouping when Dean bent over and grabbed the last one off his brother. It had its wings stuffed in Sam's mouth. Dean picked it up and twisted its neck to break it, the head flopped to the side and he dropped it. When the bird got up, head dangling merrily, and started coming at him, he blasted it with the shotgun. It exploded in a ball of feathers and sawdust.

Dean didn't bother checking Sam for vitals, the chicken army was slowly edging towards them. He picked his brother up, tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He was a little way down the hall when he heard the door creak open. Dean risked a glance back, there were several of the birds peeking through the partially opened door like they were trying to decide what to do. Dean didn't wait to find out. He raced down the stairs, slammed that door, and ran out of the building. He pulled the big door closed behind him and carried Sam to the Impala.

"Sammy?" He pulled Sam off his shoulder and dropped him gently into the car. Sam's face was covered in blood. "Sam?" Dean reached a badly shaking hand for Sam's pulse. It was there, a moment later, Sam coughed. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam opened his eyes and looked at him.

"Hey."

"Did I…?"

"Just get your ass kicked by a bunch of dead, stuffed chickens?" Dean said, his voice harsh, the panic still there. "Yep, pretty much."

Dean got them back to their motel in record time. He didn't bother with first aid at the scene, he wanted to get Sam as far away from the chickens as he could. Once they were there, he watched anxiously as Sam half-stumbled into the room and dropped down onto one of the beds. Dean grabbed the first aid kit, went into the bathroom and wet a wash cloth, then sat on the edge of the bed.

"Your face is mess," he said as he wiped the blood off Sam's face. There were several wounds at the edge of Sam's right eye, but that wasn't the worst of it. Dean looked closer. "Can you see out of this eye, Sammy?"

"It hurts. Do we have any eyewash?"

"Yeah, hang on." Dean dug through the kit and pulled out the sterile saline. "Tip your head back."

"Don't drown me," Sam grumbled a minute later.

"How is it?" Dean asked. Sam blinked, rolled his eyes and blinked again. "Sam?"

"I think it's just scratched, Dean," he said calmly.

"Yeah, right. Can you see out of that eye?" Dean looked at his brother. "Sammy?"

"Not really well, it hurts." Sam swallowed. "My throat hurts, too."

Dean let his eyes drift from Sam's face to his neck, dark bruises were appearing on the light skin. Some of the bruises looked like chicken feet. There were several small marks at the edges of the bruising that looked like the mark of claws. "I'm going to get some ice." Dean mentally chided himself. _Swelling's always a danger with this kind of injury. I didn't even notice, I was so focused on the blood. _He grabbed the ice bucket, walked down to the machine and filled it. When he got back to the room, he rolled some ice in a towel and laid it on Sam's throat.

"How's it feel?"

"Like a bunch of chickens tried to choke me to death." Sam smiled. Dean noticed how rough his brother's voice was.

"A bunch of dead, stuffed chickens." Dean dropped back on the edge of the bed. He lifted the towel and looked at the bruising again. "I…"

"It's okay, Dean, it's not like last time. I'm fine. It just hurts a little."

"Are you sure?" The panic was back, full blown.

"Yeah."

"Okay, take these," Dean said, dropping a couple of Tylenol into Sam's hand.

"Thanks, Dean. Can you get my laptop?"

"Maybe you should rest before doing some research, Sam. Do you have the storage's number?" Sam gave it to him and he called the Powells', when Myrna answered he asked her if they could lock the building and keep everyone out until he returned the next day. She assured him Bill would. Dean hung the phone up and looked over at his brother. Sam's eyes were closed, one hand holding the towel on his throat. "Sammy?"

"I'm okay, Dean, can I have my computer?" he said without opening his eyes.

"No."

"No?" Sam's eyes opened. "We need to find out…"

"No one is going in the building until we get back. You're going to rest." Dean held up his hand as Sam opened his mouth. "Nope. Rest. Sleep."

"Dean, just for a minute? Until the Tylenol kicks in?"

Dean hesitated. Sam looked at him for a moment, then gave him the full-on puppy look, complete with a sincere blink and the tiniest little squinch of a frown curling between his eyebrows. Dean chuckled. "Okay, if you promise to turn that off."

"Sure," Sam smiled. Dean got up and handed Sam the laptop. His brother had it open and was in research mode less than three minutes later. Dean watched Sam happily sorting through the pages he was calling up for a minute more, making sure Sam was alright, before standing. Sam looked up. "Dean?"

"I'm going to take a shower." He grabbed a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom. The drain didn't work quite right and Dean ended up soaking his feet in a couple of inches of hot water. It was annoying at first, but after a few minutes, he realized he was enjoying the sensation.

"How's it going?" he asked when he walked back into the room

"Good," Sam said, looking up from the computer. "I think I might be on the right track." He frowned and swallowed.

"Sam? What?"

"It's nothing." He burped and smiled. "See?"

"Okay. Find anything?" Dean said, sitting on the other bed and looking at his brother.

"I think so, or maybe, this picture looks a little like the guy we saw in the window." Sam turned the laptop so Dean could look at the screen, it was an old drawing, but Dean could see the resemblance.

"Yeah, that might be him. Who is it?"

"He's been know by a lot of names, two hundred sixty years ago they called him the chicken man. No one is quite sure what he is, but most of the sources say he's some kind of goblin."

"Goblin?"

"Yeah. Some sources say he's called chicken man because of how he looks, others because he's fond of…"

"Chickens?" Dean smirked. "How fond?"

"Very fond." Sam grinned at him. "Very, very fond."

"Very... What do you… Eww, Sam, that's just gross."

"Yeah, I know."

"So tell me more about the Great Gonzo."

"The Great Gonzo?" Sam laughed, then burped again, rubbing his stomach. "I'm not sure eating before being attacked by chickens is a good idea." He poked at the computer for a moment. "There's a lot of lore out there, I'm trying to narrow it down, most sources agree he might be a goblin, they think he might be able to use magic, and…"

"He likes chickens," Dean finished. "Magic? What kind of magic? What are we dealing with?"

"Again, it varies."

"Yeah? But?" Dean looked at his brother. "You have a funny look on your face, Sam."

"Well, there was a case about fifty years ago, a little south of here, someone claimed to have seen him. A week later they started finding bodies. There was some evidence… You won't like this."

"Won't like what?"

"Well, at least two of the bodies appeared to have been devoured…"

"Yeah, and they left the ears and the noses, right?"

"Dean, stop interrupting." Sam burped again. "They were eaten from the inside out."

"What?" Dean felt his eyebrows climb. "From the inside? How? What does that, Sam?"

"According to the medical examiner they found feathers in some of the remains."

"Chicken feathers?" Dean asked, his brother nodded. "This just keeps getting better and better. How do chickens—chickens, Sam—eat someone from the inside out?"

"I think it might be…" Sam stopped and rubbed his stomach. "There's an old voodoo spell, I remember reading about it once, but it's usually bugs or," he burped, "snakes."

"Okay, but how do you get chickens inside someone? Or bugs or snakes?"

"Usually they eat something with the spell in it. I seem to remember ice cream is a good carrier." He swallowed. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, Sam, why?"

"Dinner isn't bothering you?"

"No, but I had real food, you're the one who ate salad, Sammy. You don't look good."

"I don't feel very… Oh god…" Sam jumped off the bed and bolted for the bathroom. Dean heard him vomiting and walked to the bathroom door without going in. After a few very painful sounding minutes, Sam stopped. There was a long moment of silence. "Dean?" Sam's voice was weak.

"Yeah?"

"You better come in here," Sam said.

"Oh, come on." Dean took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Sam was leaning against the tub, his head in his hands.

"Toilet," Sam mumbled.

Dean looked down. "Whoa, is that?"

"Blood and feathers? Yeah."

"Shit." Dean flushed the toilet and filled a glass with water. "Here." He crouched down in front of Sam.

"Thanks." Sam took a sip of water.

"Can you get up, Sam?"

"I think I'd better stay in here for awhile." Sam smiled wanly. "I think the WiFi will work in here."

"What?"

"My laptop, can you get it?"

"Yeah, sure." Dean walked back into the main room and grabbed Sam's laptop, a couple of pillows and a blanket. He carried them into the bathroom and propped Sam up against the tub and covered him with the blanket. Sam smiled and opened the computer. "Can I have a coke or something? To cover the flavor of the feathers?"

"Okay, be right back." Dean headed down to the coke machine. As he passed the Impala he stopped, the meaning of what was happening suddenly sinking in. His dinner was suddenly roiling in his stomach. He swallowed and took several breaths to calm the pounding of his heard and the nausea that was threatening to get the upper hand. He took another deep breath and walked quickly to the pop machine and got Sam a selection of flavors before heading back.

When he walked into the room, he could hear Sam vomiting again. He didn't wait outside this time, he walked in and crouched down beside Sam, rubbing his back until he finished, then helped him over to the tub. Dean cracked open the root beer he'd gotten and handed it to Sam. "It's easier on your stomach when it comes back, Sammy."

"Thanks." Sam took it and sipped.

"So, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have chickens in you?"

"I think I might." Sam smiled.

"How did it happen? I thought you said it used ice cream."

"I said ice cream makes a good carrier. I think it happened when the chicken shoved its wing in my mouth."

"The dead stuffed chicken? It had a plan?"

"I think chicken man had the plan, Dean, not the chickens." Sam sighed. "I found something that might help."

"Okay, what do we need?" Dean rubbed his hands together, it was always easier when there was something to do.

"We already have some of it. That nine herbs charm we picked up at the store the other day should work. So, we need alcohol…"

"Tequila, check."

"The herbs."

"In the trunk, check."

"Some lard."

"There's a grocery store down the street, check."

"And…" Sam paused.

"And? And what?"

"Horse hair."

"Horse hair?"

"Yeah."

"Horse hair," Dean said to himself, thinking. "Check."

"What?"

"I remember seeing some horses as we drove in, down by the hairpin turn. Come on, we need to get on the road."

"Leave me here, Dean."

"Oh, hell no, Sammy. You're coming, that way you can drink the stuff as soon as we get the horse hair." Dean pulled his brother to his feet and steered him out the door. He grabbed the tequila and one of the room's cups on the way out. Once he settled Sam in the car, he got the herbs out of the back. They were on the road less than a minute later, Sam measuring the herbs into the cup and Dean trying not to panic. He pulled into the grocery store lot and sprinted through the aisles looking for lard. He finally spotted the blue box on a shelf, paid for it and raced back to the car. The door was open, Sam leaning out. "Sam?"

"I'm okay," Sam said, sitting up and pulling the door closed. "Did you get the lard?"

"Yeah, here." Dean handed him the box.

"Maybe we should hurry."

"Right." Dean turned out of the lot and headed to where he was sure he'd seen the horses. _And just how do you expect to get horse hair, genius? _Dean sighed and glanced at Sam, his brother was pale, a small trickle of blood running from his mouth. "Almost there, Sam, is everything ready?"

"Yeah." Sam held up the glass.

"Oh, man, that looks tasty."

"You should smell it."

"No, I think I'll take your word for that." Dean spotted a pull out—it might be a  
bus stop—and parked the car. He could see the dark shape of a dappled horse in the shadows under a group of trees. "I'll be right back."

"Be careful, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean walked to the fence and looked at it, the wires seemed to be plain old barbed wire, not electric. He took a breath and touched a finger to the fence—nothing happened, so he risked putting his hand on it. No current. _Maybe something is going my way. _He hopped over the fence and started walking towards the horse. He heard it munching on something, its head was down and he was hoping he could get fairly close before it saw him. His luck seemed to be holding, and he was within a few yards of the horse when the wind changed. The horse stopped eating and lifted its head. With a snort it turned towards him. Dean froze. The horse looked pissed.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want a little hair," Dean said soothingly. The horse dipped its head. "It's okay." Dean took a step closer. The horse pawed at the ground with one hoof. _That's not good. _"Just a little…" He took another step, the horse threw its head up. Dean froze. Getting kicked in the head wouldn't help his brother. He looked around, trying to figure out what to do. The horse suddenly took a step towards him, Dean moved back, as he did so, he noticed a tuft of white caught in the bark on one of the trees. He looked at the horse, it had white hair on one flank. Hoping it was the horse's hair, Dean grabbed the tuft and ran, the horse right behind him, he made it to the fence and jumped over. He looked back at the horse, it had stopped about halfway across the field. "Ha, beat you."

Dean ran back to the car ad pulled the passenger door open. Sam was leaning against the seat with his eyes closed. "Sammy?"

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah." Dean dropped the hair into the glass and stirred it with his finger. "The alcohol probably killed anything on the hair, Sam."

"Doesn't matter." Sam took the glass and downed it in one gulp. He handed the glass back to Dean.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Is it working?"

"I don't…" Sam grabbed his stomach. "I think it is. Oh god." He leaned out the door. "You might want to move." Dean jumped out of the way, he looked away, or tried to, once or twice he sneaked a peek, then wished he hadn't. _Oh god, Sammy. _When Sam was finally finished he sat back in the car with a sigh.

"Sam? Are you okay?" He put his hand on Sam's arm and gave it a little shake.

"Yeah, I think so." Sam opened his eyes and smiled. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"It's all gone?"

"They are."

"They? Dude, that's just… wrong." Dean gave Sam's arm a pat then closed the door. As he walked around the car he realized his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath to get his heart rate under control before getting in the driver's seat. Dean glanced at Sam, then turned the car on and headed back to the motel. Sam was quiet on the drive, Dean kept checking on him.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said after the third check.

"I know. That mirror's not adjusted right." Dean pulled into the lot at the motel. "Home sweet home."

Sam walked into the room, heading directly into the bathroom. "I'm going to shower."

"Sounds like a good idea." Dean dropped onto the bed and turned on the TV. He flipped through several channels before finding a classic car auction, a '62 Continental was up on the block, he watched the price climb. _Gonzo is going to pay for this. _Sam came out just after the car sold for more that two-hundred thousand, a '67 Chevelle was up next. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Chicken free." Sam grinned and grabbed a coke before sitting down on his bed.

"Good. So, how do we kill Gonzo?"

"According to my research, the only way it to… How did they put it? Strategically dismember him."

"Strategically dismember?" Dean nodded. "I like that."

"I thought you would."

"I wonder if he knows about his spell being stopped?" Dean mused.

"He might, some spellworkers can sense things like that."

"Yeah, well, we'll head back tomorrow. You need to rest and no pulling that look on me. Rest." Dean looked at his brother and frowned, he reached an hand out and stopped.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Let me look at your neck, Sammy." Dean got up and shifted the bedside lamp so it was shining on Sam's throat, a shadowy line was slowly appearing on his brother's neck.

"Dean, there's something wrong." Sam's hand went to his throat, the line had turned red—it looked like a rope burn. Sam's breathing was getting harsh. "Something…"

"Try and stay calm, Sammy, your throat might be swelling," Dean said calmly, hearing complete panic in his voice. He picked up the phone and dialed 911. Sam was gasping desperately for air by the time Dean told the dispatcher where they were.

"Pull it off," Sam groaned out.

"What? There's nothing there."

"Feels like rope."

Pounding on the door pulled his attention from Sam. "Come in!" The EMTs came into the room, stopping long enough to assess the situation. "He bruised his throat earlier today," Dean said, stepping away so they could work on Sam. His brother grabbed his hand.

"You need to let go, what's his name?"

"Sam."

"You need to let go, Sam, so we can help you," the EMT said calmly.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said quietly, he squeezed Sam's hand and stepped to the other side of the room so he had a clear view of what was going on. He wasn't sure what was happening, Sam's breathing was getting harsher and harsher. One of the EMTs said something about Sam's throat closing. He watched as the tried to get a tube down Sam's throat. It was discarded and another tried, that one worked and they loaded Sam onto the stretcher and rolled him out to the ambulance. Dean followed them.

"We're taking him to St. Clare's," the EMT said as he closed the door. "You can follow us."

Dean walked to the car and turned it on, the ambulance pulled out, Dean right behind it.

_Be okay, Sammy, please be okay. _

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. And Your Chicken Army, Too

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I am slowly catching up on my review replies. I am still using more of my computer time to get chapters out. Once again, happy birthday to TraSan, I hope you like this last installment. I think I've covered everything now!_

**Gallows Gallus**

**Chapter Three**

**And Your Chicken Army, Too**

Dean ran three red lights, nearly crashed into a minivan full of teenagers and barely missed a dog lumbering in the road as he raced behind the ambulance. The fact the sirens were blaring drove his panic up another notch. _Not sure how many notches I have left. _When the ambulance suddenly turned, Dean almost passed the turn, but managed to just make it. He pulled the car into the closest spot and ran into the emergency room.

The woman at the front desk stopped him and handed him a clipboard with forms on it. Dean sighed and leaned against the wall to fill them out, keeping his eye on the door that led back into the ER. He took the forms back and handed the woman the insurance card he thought would work—at least until they were gone. She pointed him towards the waiting room.

"But…" Dean said.

"Sir, if you'll just wait, the doctor will be right out."

"But…"

"Sir, please," she said firmly. "You need to wait for the doctor."

"Fine," Dean growled and paced into the waiting room, moving around the edge of the room, unconsciously checking the doors for possible escape routes, making note of the people sitting there, taking in the chapel with its basin of holy water outside. He tracked the coffeemaker down by the sour smell coming from one corner of the room, made himself a cup and started pacing around the room again. Dean lost track of the number of times he walked around the room, stopped to check with the nurse about Sam's condition and refilled his coffee cup. He was pretty sure the coffee-sludge was beginning to make a hole in his stomach when the doors finally opened and a tall woman in scrubs walked towards him.

"How's my brother?" He pounced before she could say anything.

"I'm Dr. Reid. Your brother, he's…" Her eyes tracked away from him.

"He's what?" _Calm, stay calm, punching doctors has never gotten you anything before. _

"It's not good," she said with an odd look in her eye.

"What does that mean? Is his throat still swelling?"

"Yes, but that's not the major problem."

"It's not?" Dean asked. "Then what is it?"

"I thought, at first, we were dealing with the results of an injury, but…"

"But?"

"If I didn't know better, I would swear there was still a cord wrapped around his neck. You can see the indentation, and it's getting worse."

"What?"

"I have no explanation for it."

"Can I see him?" Dean said, aware that the panic was up another notch. _Had another one, good. How many more, though? _

"Yes, you should. I don't know…" She turned to lead him to the back, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "If this keeps up there will be nothing we can do, the damage will be too severe, it's like he's being hanged before my eyes."

Dean swallowed and followed her through the doors, she led the way to a room at the far corner of the ER. He stepped in and stopped. _Oh, god, Sammy. _Taking a deep breath he walked to the bed and put his hand down on Sam's arm.

"If you look here," the doctor said, pointing at Sam's throat. "You can see what I mean."

Dean looked down, the red line that had been on Sam's throat was now dark purple. He reached out and gently ran a finger over Sam's neck. He could feel the indentation of the cord that was choking his brother to death. "How long does he have?" Dean asked.

"Not long, unless we can stop whatever is happening."

"Okay, you keep him going. I'll be back." Dean leaned close to Sam and dropped his voice to a near whisper, hoping his brother would hear him. "I'm going after Gonzo, Sammy, just hang on till I get back." He straightened. "I'll be checking in, to see how he is."

"Have them page me directly. Where are you going?" Dr. Reid asked with a frown.

"To stop this," Dean said, patting Sam's arm and walking towards the door.

"How?"

"Playing chicken."

Dean pulled up at the storage less than fifteen minutes later. As fast as he'd driven behind the ambulance, he'd doubled the speed on the way back. He called Myrna as he drove, she gave him a code to get through the gate and wished him the best of luck. _Yeah, 'cause I'm always so freaking lucky. _ He stopped in front of the large building and got out. He thought he saw something move across the roof, slipping behind the lighted "storage" sign. _Great. _Dean opened the trunk and stood looking in for a moment before grabbing the shotgun and his machete. He didn't know how much good the gun would do, it hadn't seemed to bother the chicken man earlier, but it might slow him down a little.

He eased the door open, trying to be as quiet as possible and was rewarded with a loud squeak. _Just freaking great. _The light switch was just inside the door, he reached in and turned it on. A sickly glow lit the hallway. Dean walked in and looked down the corridor before opening the door that led upstairs. He flipped on the light, again the lights were dim, far dimmer than he remembered. With a deep breath, he headed up the stairs, the ancient wood creaking under his feet.

Once on the second floor, he glanced down the hall towards the room where Sam had been attacked. The door was still partially open, something glinting just inside. _The chickens are watching me, can it get any better? _

"Won't catch me," a voice cackled, the sound bouncing around the empty building.

"Oh, yes I will," Dean said, turning in the direction of the sound. A door at the opposite end of the hall was swinging a little on its hinges. He walked towards it, aware of a scratching sound behind him. When he turned, he heard a scuffling noise, but nothing was behind him. "Come out and play Gonzo."

Laughter filled the corridor. "Won't catch me," the voice repeated.

The scratching was getting closer. Dean froze and the scratching stopped. He took a step. Scratch. Another step. Scratch. He spun around and caught a glimpse of something with red feathers disappearing under a door. Something suddenly closed around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. The chickens were on him the next second. Dean threw a hand over his eyes and tried to push himself up. The chickens increased their attack, he brought the gun up and blasted blindly into the mass of bodies. They scattered. He jumped up and turned in time to see a figure disappear through the door at the end of the hall. He followed, slamming the door behind him. Several chickens hit the door with a dull _thud. _

It was pitch black. Dean fished his flashlight out of his pocket. Flicking it on, he tried to get an idea of how big the room was, it echoed like it was large, even though he could see the far wall was only about thirty feet from the door. Turning the beam towards the ceiling, he understood why the place sounded so big. The ceiling opened to the next floor, a ladder built of… "Oh, that's just gross," he said aloud, walking to the carefully stacked collection of bones.

"Won't catch me."

Something slammed into Dean's back, nearly driving him to his knees. He managed to stay on his feet and tried to gauge where the voice was coming from. "Come on, Gonzo, I just want to play."

"I don't want to."

Dean heard it coming that time, and ducked as something whizzed over his head and shattered against the wall. He turned and fired in the direction the missile had come from, the flash lit the room up for a second and he got the impression of a collection of bodies, piles of feathers and a large table against one wall.

"Nice try, you missed." The voice came from the other side of the room.

"I'm done playing," Dean said, walking towards the table. It was covered with an assortment of items that led Dean to think it was an altar of some kind. He put his foot against it. "Table's going over, Gonzo."

"No!" The voice came from right beside Dean, he looked over, the chicken man stood there, illuminated in the beam of the flashlight. He was small, less than five feet, with an oddly shaped head, pointed teeth glinted from his mouth and his hands had long nails that looked like claws.

"Dude, you're fugly.," Dean said, swinging the machete. The flashlight clattered to the ground as he swung. He caught the goblin in the wrist, the hand dropping to the floor. "One down."

"No, not yet," Gonzo said, he reached down and the hand slid across the floor and re-attached to his arm.

"Oh, come on, that's not fair," Dean said to the universe at large. He raised the shotgun with his left hand and fired. It caught the goblin in the chest and provided enough of a distraction to allow him to connect with chicken man again, cleaving the head from the body. The trunk dropped to the floor, but before Dean could react, the head started inching back towards the body. "Oh hell no." Dean kicked the head across the room and swung the machete again and again. "I wonder if that's strategically dismembered enough?" he asked, looking at the pile of body parts. Taking a deep breath, he called the hospital and asked about Sam.

"He's not improving," Dr. Reid said, coming on the line a few seconds later.

"He's not?" Dean walked over and kicked the altar over. "What about now?"

"No," the doctor said, sounding confused.

"But, the altar and Gonzo… Wait, the chickens! I'll call back," he broke the connection and ran to the door. He opened it. "Shit."

The hall was full of chickens, scratching claws against the floor, black eyes turned to stare at him. He reached in his pocket, grabbed some shells and reloaded the shotgun. Dean fired into the army of chickens, several blasted apart in an explosion of feathers and saw dust. _This isn't going to work. _Dean looked desperately around, about five feet from where he stood a large cart sat against the wall. He took a deep breath and made a dash for the rusted metal cart. When he reached it, he swung it around and shoved it into the group of chickens. They parted before the cart, he raced down the hall, aware the army was regrouping behind him.

Dean opened the door to the room where Sam had been attacked. In the corner farthest from the door, on a small tray covered with a bunch of things, a single black candle was burning. Suspended above the tray was an effigy, hanging from a cord wrapped around its neck. Dean sprinted across the room, kicking several chickens out of his way as he went. He cut the figure down and sliced the cord from its neck.

The chickens apparently decided enough was enough.

Something hit him from behind with the force of a car. He slammed into the floor as the chickens began ripping at his hair and exposed flesh. Several of them managed to get under him and he was flipped over. The next instant, the chickens had their wings in his mouth, clawed feet pressing on his windpipe. Dean started to see stars. He was trying to draw air into his lungs, trying to get the chickens off him. One hand, flailing over his head, trying to pull the chickens away from his eyes caught the leg of the tray. Dean wrapped his hand around it and shoved it over. He heard it fall, glass shattering against the floor. The candle went out. The lights in the hallway suddenly grew brighter and Dean realized the chickens had stopped moving.

He sat up, the stuffed fowl falling from his body. Dean spit feathers out of his mouth and dragged out his phone. He was rubbing his throat as the call was connected. "My brother?"

"I don't know what happened."

"Doctor?"

"Whatever was choking him is gone, he's improving."

"Thank god," Dean said, letting his head, the rush of relief nearly undoing him. "I'll be there in about half an hour."

"I'm having your brother moved to a room for the night, we're going to leave him on the vent, just in case, until morning. Maybe it would be…"

"No, I promised him I'd never leave him alone in a hospital. I have no intention of breaking that promise now," Dean rasped out, his throat was really starting to ache. _Stupid dead chickens. _

"Come to the ER and ask for me, I'll take you to his room," Dr. Reid said.

"Thanks." Dean broke the connection and stood. The stuffed chickens were scattered around the room, stiff and unmoving. Just to make sure, he kicked one, watching with satisfaction as it slammed into the wall. He walked down the hall into the chicken man's lair. The pile of body parts was gone, in its place a pile of bones and feathers. "Caught you," Dean said to the pile and headed to the Impala. When he slid into the drives seat, he let his head rest against the cool wheel for a minute. An ache had appeared behind his eyes sometime between the motel and hospital and it was suddenly getting worse, pounding through his head in time with his pulse. _I think I hate chickens. _With a sigh, he pulled out and headed towards the hospital.

By the time he reached the parking lot for the ER, his head felt like it was getting ready to explode, his nose felt stuffed up. _Dust. I hate dust too, and chickens and Gonzo. Sorry, Kermit, but I hate Gonzo. _He got out and walked towards the doors, they opened in front of him, the warm rush of air making his head even worse. He stumbled to the triage desk, the nurse looked up at him and frowned.

"Dr. Reid," he gasped, then blinked, there were suddenly two nurses in front of him. _And neither one hot. _The room was moving around him in a slow circle. He blinked again.

"Sir, maybe you should…"

"Dr. Reid," he repeated. The room was spinning faster, the three nurses came around the desk and put a hand on him. The whirlwind around him was black at the edges, he felt his knees give way and there was a flurry of activity. He closed his eyes, hoping it would stop the spinning and help ease his headache.

When he was ready to open his eyes again, Dean realized he was lying down, there was something beeping over his head and the medicinal smell of oxygen was coming through something under his nose. _What the hell? _He opened his eyes and looked at the tile ceiling in confusion. _Huh. _There was the pinch of an IV in his elbow and something that pulled like stitches at the back of his neck. He lifted a hand and felt the bandage on his neck. _Huh, weird._

A little more awareness made its way into his brain. _Sam! _ Dean sat up too fast, the room did a little summersault then settled down. His brother was in the bed next to him. The tube was gone, an oxygen mask in its place. Dean sighed in relief and reached for the nurse call button. No one came, so he poked it again.

"I'm glad you're up," Dr. Reid said walking into the room. "I'm going off duty and I was hoping you'd be up before I left."

"How's Sam?" Dean asked, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded.

"He's improving. The anti-inflammatory has dealt with the residual swelling. He should be off the oxygen mask later this morning. I want to keep him here tonight, too, just for observation. That kind of injury can lead to severe swelling hours after the injury."

"I know," Dean said, swallowing.

"I want to keep you, too. I figured if he was here, you wouldn't fight me."

"Me, why? What happened?"

"You have a mild concussion, I stitched the worst of the slashes, I'm not sure I want to know where they came from. Mostly it's for observation, to make sure the reaction doesn't set in again."

"Reaction?"

"You have a severe allergy to chicken feathers, did you know that? We found several lodged in your throat, you inhaled enough to set off the reaction."

"No. I knew there was a reason I hated chickens," Dean said with a smile. "If it's just for observation can I get the IV out?"

"Sure." She turned off the oxygen and pulled his IV. "Take it easy, though."

"I'm not going anywhere, well, I need coffee, but after that, no where."

"Call the kitchen, they'll bring coffee—it's not too bad," she said with a smile. "I'll be back to check on you tonight."

"Thanks." Dean waited until she left before calling food services. He ordered coffee and food, then got out of bed, dropping down into the chair beside Sam. His brother had dark smudges under his eyes and the purple bruise on his throat was swollen, looking like he had the cord under his flesh. Dean ran a gentle hand over Sam's neck, checking to make sure it was just a bruise and nothing more sinister. Once he was sure, he put his hand on Sam's arm and leaned back in the chair, and flipped on the TV.

While he was eating, the nurse cam in and replaced Sam's oxygen mask with just a little tube. _One more good sign. _Dean sipped his coffee and watched as she worked, checking monitors and adjusting the drip on Sam's IV. Dean smiled at her as she left, then checked on Sam himself. "This was a little too close, Sammy," he said as he settled back into the chair. He flipped around a little on the TV before finding _Forbidden Planet _on the local PBS station. He was asleep before Anne Francis' "nude" swimming scene.

"Dean?" the soft whisper woke him as quickly as a shout.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up and looked over at his brother. Sam was awake, blinking in the sunlight coming through the window. He got up, sat on the edge of Sam's bed and pulled his brother up in a tight hug, Sam returned it. "Thought I lost you there for a minute, Sammy," Dean said. He let Sam go, and put his hand on his brother's chest. Sam covered it with his. "How do you feel?"

"My throat hurts," Sam whispered. "What happened?"

"Gonzo did the voodoo thing to you."

"What?"

"I foiled his plans."

"What?"

"Heard that on the TV the other day, liked it."

"And you've been saving it, haven't you?" Sam whispered with a grin.

"Oh hell yeah."

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam was frowning in concern.

"Of course."

"You're in a hospital gown."

"Yeah, I was covered with chicken feathers, they wouldn't let me stay until I changed clothes."

"And the bandage on your neck?"

"Chicken scratches, nothing serious."

"Dean?" Sam's frown deepened.

"Okay, it's a couple of stitches, no big deal."

"You let them stitch you up?" Sam asked, his eyebrows climbing into his hair.

"Yeah." Dean tried the nonchalant shrug. _'Cause that always fools Sammy. Yep. _His brother looked at him. Dean cleared his throat and looked out the window. Sam was quiet. "Okay, fine. Stop that." Sam grinned at him. "I might have sort of passed out a little."

"You might have sort of passed out a little? Dean?"

"I guess I have an allergy to chicken feathers."

"The dead stuffed chickens did a number on you, too?" Sam was laughing at him, the laugh turned into a cough.

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean chuckled. "After they let you out, want to stop and get some fried chicken? Exact a little revenge?"

"Dean…"

"Oh wait, or is it revenge, like chicken salad, is best served cold?"

"Bite me, Dean."

"No, Sammy, bite the chickens."

"Jerk," Sam said with a grin, tightening his hand on Dean's and meeting his eyes. _He knows how close it was. _

"Bitch," Dean said. "Okay, chick flick is over, let's order some lunch and watch a little TV, whatcha think?"

"Sounds good."

"I get to pick," Dean said, grabbing the remote.

"Fine, I think I'll sleep a little more anyway."

"Okay, Sammy." Dean stayed with his hand on Sam's chest until his brother dropped back to sleep. He waited a moment longer, then shifted to the chair. Dean put his hand back on Sam's arm, needing the contact. _We can order a little food later, maybe I'll nap a little too. _He turned the sound down on the TV and closed his eyes, letting the sound of Sam's even breathing carry him into sleep.

_**The End**_


End file.
